


This Time with Spirit

by Bubblepanda07



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman Europa - Fandom
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Ghost!AU, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, kind of character death but???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubblepanda07/pseuds/Bubblepanda07
Summary: Bruce Wayne had been haunted his whole life, but literally being haunted was a first for him. What does one do when their long time nemesis decides to tag along from the grave?





	1. Death is only Temporary

**Author's Note:**

> Boy howdy it's been like 3 years since I last wrote something and let me tell you friends it's just as painful as I remember~ But this idea wouldn't leave me alone after Mellie-art on tumblr (if you haven't checked them and their writing out WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!) briefly mentioned ghost Joker and I remembered how much I love ghost aus! Recently got back into Batjokes after a decade or so and this is my first time writing it so I may still have a long way to go with finding my writing voice. This au kind of pulls from an amalgam of different bits of canon and mingles with their personalities from each.

Joker had always imagined that he would go out with a bang and, if he was lucky, by the hand of his precious bat. Turns out, he was half right. He had just barely pushed Batsy out of the way when he was hefted up by a brute of a creature and tossed to the side like a ragdoll. His bones made an unsettling crunching sound as they met with a concrete wall and there was a sharp pain through his chest before- _nothing_. That this mindless beast was the one to take him out! It wasn't even a funny death! He was _pissed_.  


Wait-he was? He shouldn't _be_ anything! Joker looked at his body skewered against the wall, a rusted rod holding his corpse up like a demented puppet. Perhaps he was just having a really bad case of dissociation. Or some sort of out of body experience. Yes, that must be it.  
Ignoring his broken form for now, he turned to look at his bat. Batman dodged the big meaty fist of the titan creature and ducked in close, stabbing the kryptonite spear up under its ribs. The beast let out a gurgling groan before falling over, dust stirring on the ground as it hit the floor. From his understanding this grotesque... _thing_ was one of the last remaining beings that had recently invaded the Earth. Something to do with that Superguy. He hadn't actually paid that much attention to the details, he was mostly just excited that Batman had asked for his help.  


"Jo-", Batman started, turning to him. Seeing him strung up, his voice caught in his throat. He stood stiff and unmoving, disbelief clear on his face. After a long moment, his body seemed to stir back into motion and he ran over to him. Reaching up, pausing to avoid the answer he already knew, he pressed his fingers to the inside of his pale wrist, feeling for a pulse.   


"Aw, relax bats! I'm perfectly fine! Fit as a fiddle!"  


A generic, flat computer voice sounded from Batman's gauntlet not a moment later, "No heartbeat detected."   


"I beg your pardon?" An icy sensation rushed over Joker. The out of body experience, the lack of feeling, he wasn't dissociating- _he was dead_. Without the blackout nothingness that was usually associated with the act. Which meant-which meant what, exactly? Joker mulled over the options, trying to stray away from the one he least liked. First option, maybe the 'crow had finally made a toxin that could affect him and it was all a very impressive hallucination. Problem with that was he wasn't actually afraid of dying. Death was simply an inevitability; one day, some way, everyone dies. The end. Do not pass go and do not collect your $200 dollars because you, sonny boy, are dead.  


There was also the possibility that his noodle had finally cracked and he was sitting in a cell in Arkham with a straightjacket on, jacked up on psychotropics, babbling and drooling on himself. He couldn't rule that out, but his mind seemed to be as clear and astute as it had ever been. Hallucinations were always more of Harley's thing. He wasn't nearly as crazy as everyone believed him to be. Or was he? He cackled to himself.  


So if not a hallucination, that left one final option. He looked down at himself and back to his body. Looked like least desired option number three was the winner.  


Option number three, _he was a ghost_. "God. Damn it."  


This was absolutely ridiculous. Monsters? Sure. Superhumans? Okay. Magic? Eh. But spirits? _Really?_ What a load! He stomped his foot and put his hands on his hips, lips turned down in a bitter scowl.  


Batman removed him from the spike, his limp body sagging against him. Repositioning him, he cradled his body in his arms, blood seeping onto the black suit.  


"How sweet." At least it would be if he weren't suddenly doing a Patrick Swayze impersonation. A giggle bubbled up out of his throat at the mental picture of himself and the bat making pottery, momentarily thrown from his cranky mood. Wouldn't that be something?  


Following Batman out of the building and into the back of his jet, he frowned deeply as he was made aware of the utter lack of feeling he had. No pressure on his feet, no wind on his skin, no rustle of clothing. Nothing. He clucked his tongue. Maybe if he tried really hard he could get Batsy to hear him.  


"Helloooo. Hello hello! Testing! Clown to bats!" He danced around in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face. Without any preamble, Batman _walked right through him_. Joker froze in place, not liking that one bit. The first bubbles of panic started to rise at the realization of being completely invisible.  


"What good are those pointy little ears of yours if you can't hear me?" Crossing his arms he flopped back in the passenger seat of the jet, putting his feet up on the console. On the bright side, he could have some quality time with the big bad bat. Can't take a ghost to Arkham. HA!  


Couldn't interact with them, either. He frowned again. Bullocks.  


Joker looked at Batman and took in his features, the harsh downturn of his mouth- the bat was upset. This was nothing new for the master of brooding, but the sadness for _him_ was. The sorrow there was a jarring awakening and Joker withdrew into himself. What was he now? Batman's greatest nemesis? Not anymore. Now he was just a spirit clinging to the mortal coil. Talk about a bad day, and this was coming from someone who had more than their fair share.  
  


Once the batjet landed, Bruce exited and began the process of taking off the suit, body on autopilot as his mind wandered-fingers going through the all too familiar motions on their own. First the cape, then the cowl-which he lingered on a moment too long. The empty eyes of it looked back at him as if to say 'Is this what you expected when you wanted to save people? Did you expect the inevitable failure?'. That was a particular phrase that had come up far too often.   


Part of him expected the clown to pop up and yell surprise, the jokes on him, he's not really dead! But the grand reveal never came.   


He trudged up to the elevator and leaned back against the wall with a sigh, completely exhausted. The walk up the stairs to his room seemed to stretch on forever. Walking into his bathroom he splashed water over his face and ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling slowly through his mouth. He had expected to feel some form of remorse when Joker passed, but he hadn't been expecting the crippling guilt. Which if he was being honest with himself, he should have. Bruce couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed the man. What made everything all the worse was that he died _while helping_. Not in some battle to the death on the rooftops, but taking the blow meant for him. Joker saving his life wasn't something new, although he could count on one hand the amount of times it had happened. He looked down at a scar that ran across the palm of his hand, a reminder of one of those times that would be with him forever.  


Shuddering, he felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up and goosebumps prickle over his skin. Ever since he had left the warehouse he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right-leaving him with the sensation that there was something _just_ out of his line of sight-but no matter where he turned there was nothing there.  


Moving back into his bedroom, he walked over to one of the large windows and pulled back a curtain. Dust stirred in the moonlight as he moved the heavy fabric aside. He gazed at the restless waters, beating upon the rocky edge of the island-the turbulence there calling out to his fitful mental state.  


Leaving the small gap in the curtains open, he laid down on his bed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw spots. Bruce was unsure which would win out, the guilt or the exhaustion. The answer came later when he passed out, only to be met by the nightmares that awaited him, unaware of the presence by his bedside.


	2. Cave of Wonders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet baby Jesus this chapter. First it was one thing and then I was like naw, so I started from scratch and here we are! It didn't help that I couldn't keep my deviant hands from working on _other_ au's...  
>  Also! I added a sentence in for the first chapter so it meshed with this one. And to clear some stuff up, this chapter starts a smidge back before the end of the first so we can see the events from Joker's perspective. I hope you lovelies enjoy it! :D

After Batsy had dropped off his body-which honestly Joker was disappointed, he had kind of hoped he would have kept it as a keepsake-Joker found himself getting more and more antsy the closer they got to their destination. Just where did the Bat go when he was finishing the Knight shift? _A cave?_ Joker giggled at his musings, tilting his head. _Not likely_.  


The jet began it's descent and passed through a waterfall into-oh _it was_ -an actual cave! He was beside himself. The door of the jet opened and he could hear the restless bats up above cheep and twitter as their slumber was interrupted by the loud machine.  


Exiting the jet he couldn't help but gaze about in wide eyed wonder. His attention was immediately drawn to one item in particular-well, two if you counted the dinosaur-a giant playing card. _His_ giant playing card.  


"Oh Bats, you do play hard to get." He said, gazing up at the blown up image of his face. A perfect replica of the very first card he had left him. Lingering a moment longer, he made his way to the rest of the gallery.  


His eyes raked over the various items, most of which he recognized from the other rogues. He had just made his way over to the dinosaur, who would henceforth be referred to as Spot, when Batsy finished his routine in the jet.  


Gloved fingers made quick work of the snaps on the cape, draping the garment over the chair in front of the large computer mainframe. Next came the cowl and oofta, what a tall drink of water the Bat was. Yes yes, Bruce Wayne was Batman, but Joker had his own little long kept secret. Joker had _already known_. His picture perfect memory and the publicity that one playboy billionaire garners hammered the nail in that coffin years ago. Unlike the other compatriots of the rogues gallery, he didn't actually care to know who he was. In fact, he steadfastly went out of his way not to. Then one day a news story had come on the ol' tube following another spiel of blah blah the Joker is wanted and bam! There he was and-right on queue-Harley had walked behind the tv and held up a sign, partially obscuring the man's face. Say what you would about the girl but her timing-for better or worse-was impeccable. His eyes caught the sign and then refocused on the man a second later and every alarm bell in his head tripped off. Ding ding, they said, here is your destiny! That sculpted jawline and those lips were a dead ringer for the Bats. While it certainly could have been a case of the two men just looking identical, everything else fell into place. Try as he might, he couldn't stop his brain from running off like a dog with a new toy to chew on. The monetary funds needed to support the vigilante coupled with the fact that Bruce Wayne was a large benefactor to Arkham made the man a perfect match. He had sulked for _months_ over that.  


Knowing his identity and actually seeing it first hand, however, were two different things. And good god, how was it fair to be that attractive? Gotham's most eligible bachelor indeed.  


It was an odd disposition seeing the pretty head of the billionaire attached to the suited body of the Bat that struck fear into Gotham's noxious underbelly. The man stared at the cowl in his hands, as if he were looking for it to answer him with sage advice. Joker could practically feel the turmoil radiating off of him from where he stood.  


With a world weary sigh, Bruce set the cowl down before starting to undo the rest of the suit.  


Joker had a moment of his own inner turmoil while he decided if he wanted to keep watching the man as he undressed, or turn around and give him his own privacy. He turned around in the end, of course, as watching someone undress without their permission was creepy-even for him. He was many things, but a peeping tom wasn't one of them. Even though he was intrigued about how much was the man and how much was the bulk of that delightful suit.  


He whistled and bounced on the tips of his toes as he waited for the man to finish changing. Having given the man a considerable amount of time, he turned back around to see him approaching an elevator.

When the lift arrived at the top, the doors opened to a panel with a biometric scanner. After a quick scan of both fingerprints and retinas, the panel swung forward. Stepping outside, Joker realized it wasn't just a panel, but was in fact a bookcase.  


"How very Bond-esque of you, Mr. Wayne."  


The tall clown had to do a strange two step to avoid being shut in the sliding bookcase, narrowly avoiding a trapped coat tail. He wasn't entirely sure how metaphysics would apply in this situation, as the fabric-much like himself-wasn't exactly real, but he wasn't taking any chances. So far all inanimate objects were solid to the touch, he just couldn't manipulate them. _Yet_.

Continuing on up the stairs, he followed the man into-his bedroom. He had a very 'You shouldn't be here!' type feeling, but he shoved it off and went in anyways. Bruce muddled about in the bathroom, and then gazed down at something. Joker walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder. _Ah_. The scar that ran across the man's palm, his little cadeau to him in Paris.  


Bruce shuddered and looked around, at one point looking _directly_ at him. Now that was something of interest. Though he couldn't see him, his presence certainly seemed to make the man's batty senses go all a-tingle.  


Having peered at the man lying down for far too long, Joker made his way out, sidling through a gap in the door. Turning left, and then right, he decided on which way to explore. A long, moonlit hallway called to him and he started meandering down that way.  


He came to a door on his left, hand reaching up and grasping the knob. Now, the hard part-actually turning the damned thing. Afterall, there was no time like the present to start learning how to be a proper ghost! There wasn't exactly an instruction guide for this sort of thing.  


Upon the first attempt, his hand just slid around the surface of the knob, awkwardly caressing the piece of metal.  


"Madame, I don't mean to be so forward, but if you could just-" He put forth more effort on the second try and _his hand went right through it_! A startled yelp escaped him as he pulled back his offended appendage, clutching it to his chest. There was something uncomfortable, to put it lightly, about seeing one's body part disappear. "Alright, fine. I can tell you're not interested. Another night, perhaps." He grumbled at the door, settling for keeping to the hall for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cadeau is French for gift. I originally just said gift but then cadeau was more appealing :d Also I hope you guys enjoy my weird ass sense of humor ahaha


	3. Hello from the Other Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally figured out how to bridge this gap!! Praise be. Hope it doesn't suuuuuck~ Ghost stuff is super complicated! Thanks for reading, lovelies! :D

Five days of trying to grasp the ever elusive door handle had resulted in two indisputable facts. One: learning how to move things was going to take much more time-of which he apparently had ample. Two:  It was easier to just pass into things, given how many times he had done it on accident in his endeavors.  So why open doors, when he could go _through_ them?     

Pressing his fingertips to the surface of the door and exhaling slowly, he watched as they sank through the smooth wood. Closing his eyes, he stepped forward, wisping through to the other side. Coming back to himself, he fought down a shiver, knocking the chill from his core.     

Ah, yes, _that_ was why he'd rather open the door. He was afraid that one time he would shift and the bitter cold would devour him from the inside, slipping forever into that last dark goodnight. Then again, when have dire consequences stopped him from doing something before? He didn't exactly have much of a choice, as coming into his new incorporeal form would take time and he had already grown bored of the foyer and hallways. Lovely as they were, he could only be entertained by the interior decor for so long. The drapes made terrible conversationalists.     

What he wanted to be doing was following Bats, but that had gone quite poorly a few nights prior. Having managed-with very little dignity-to clamber his way in and out of the batmobile before the other man, it was all for not. Once the Bats feet hit the pavement, with a quick click-clink- _swoosh_ he was gone, grappling away into the distance and leaving behind a sour clown. He stood there in the middle of the street, hands on his hips, glaring at him until he disappeared amongst the buildings. Honestly, some people had no manners!     

Until he could communicate with him, he would be bound to the manor. He suspected getting the man to hear him would happen much sooner-and it _would_ happen, he was sure of it-instead of physical manipulation. Afterall, he was already giving indications that he suspected something was about.     

His eyes skimmed around the room he had just wandered into, taking in the many books on the shelves. A study that, from the looks of it, hadn't been inhabited in a while. Two large floor to ceiling windows framed the left and right side of a large painting on the back wall. A _family portrait_. If Joker had to fancy a guess, the scamp standing with the man and the woman must be a wee little Bat. In his entire home invasion, as it were, he hadn't felt as intrusive as he had in that moment.     

Turning away, he took in the books lining the walls. They were a mix of encyclopedias, medical journals, and classic novels. There were also... _romance novels_? He snorted. That would be something to ask Batsy about when he could talk again.     

Against the wall opposite the windows, next to a large grandfather clock, there was a dog statue. It was poised on a pedestal, it's pointy ears standing up and alert. He smoothed his thumbs over them, reminded of the cowl of a certain vigilante. So far, the statue was his favorite discovery in this little domicile. The batcave its own separate entity.     

Lightning from outside and the ensuing crack of thunder drew his attention to a break in the curtains where the flashes of light filtered in. He could usually feel the charge in the air during a storm, but now it was different- _stronger_. The energy made his skin tingle and he could  feel the vibrations in his teeth. He was willing to bet that he could use it to his advantage.  
  
    

In the weeks following Joker's death, Gotham was...at rest. The general emotion pouring from the citizens of Gotham was relief. On one hand, Bruce understood. One less threat to contend with. There were still the other rogues, but none had been quite so large a figurehead as the harlequin. The city of Gotham had lost her jester, and her maddening laughter died down in turn. However, on a personal level, Bruce was at a loss. So many battles with the man fought, hoping that each one would be the tipping point to his recovery, only to lose the war at the most pivotal moment. That stress coupled with the paranoia from the quiet of the underworld of the city left him feeling on edge. More than once he had sworn he'd heard someone say something when he was standing in an empty room.     

Bruce's attention was momentarily drawn from his reverie to the elevator as it came down, doors pinging as it opened, empty of any passengers. The lights inside flickered, giving off an eerie ambience. Not paying it much mind, Bruce turned back to his work. He'd had an electrician come in twice that week to inspect the wiring. The lights in the house would occasionally flicker and the elevator seemed to travel up and down at random intervals. Both visits the electrician said there wasn't anything wrong and maybe it was just the set of storms that had passed through.     

As if on queue, even from this far down below, he could hear the dull rumble of another storm up above.     

His brain worked over the last riddle that Nygma had left, frustration quickly setting in. The riddle was meant to be in celebration of Joker's death, as it was no secret how much he loathed the other. He knew the answer was simple but too many sleepless nights had taken its toll and his brain was reluctant to put forth an answer. He rubbed a pinched spot between his eyebrows. ' _What has a heart, but no other organs?_ '     

"It's a deck of cards. A deck of-oh why do I bother, he can't hear me anyway!"     

Bruce jerked in his seat and turned towards the voice. The _very familiar_ voice. "Joker?!" He said, scanning the cave for any sign of life apart from the bats above. This time the voice was so crystal clear he knew he couldn't have imagined it.     

He heard a shocked gasp, the other just as startled. "You can hear me?! _Please_ tell me you can hear me, the silence is killing me!" He paused, "Well, at least it would be if I weren't already dead."     

"I-what?"     

"So you can hear me! Be still my heart. Do you know what it's like when no one can hear or see you? It's absolute torture!"    

 Bruce felt like his brain was desperately trying to keep up. Perhaps Alfred was right and he should sleep more often. A lot more often if the alternative was hearing answers to riddles from a dead man. He rubbed his hands over his face. His _bare_ face. Then came the realization that the elevator hadn't been malfunctioning and it was in fact, the other man's doing-he had been in his house. Though he still couldn't properly piece together the how and the what of the man's presence, the first wave of dread kicked in. _He knew who he was_.     

"Joker, you-"     

"Relaaaax," the man crooned soothingly, easily reading the man's dilemma, "you have nothing to worry about Batsy. And do you know why?" The last word ended in a restrained giggle. "Dead men tell no tales!" Then there was that mad laughter he never thought he would hear again, echoing off the walls of the large cavern.    

 At least now Bruce knew he wasn't going crazy...but then again, the night was still young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many bad jokes can I make? _So_ many!


	4. Batchat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to stop sitting on these chapters like a hen trying to hatch an egg. It's on the short side, even for me, but transitions are hard, yo. And thanks everyone for your support so far!

"How is this possible?"  


"Genetics, alien death, sheer determination, or maybe there's some cosmic entity that thought it would be funny. Your guess is as good as mine. But the good news is, I'm here!"  


The hair on the back of Bruce's neck stood up. He couldn't see the man, but he was willing to bet he was exercising his infamous lack of personal space.  


"Don't stand so close."  


"I thought you couldn't see me?"  


"I can't, but I can still hear and-" _feel you?_ No, he wasn't going to dig that hole, "-sense you."  


"Tell me, is it a Sixth Sense kind of vibe?" He said, and this time his voice was way too close to his ear for comfort and he had to fight down the urge to swat in the direction of the other man. It spoke volumes that, blind to him as he may be, he could picture his mannerisms. He could imagine him standing there behind his chair, leaning over and hovering his hands around his head. Far enough not to touch, but close enough to be uncomfortable. "I could put a sheet on if it would make you feel better...you know, come to think of it, maybe that's where the old sheet ghost gag comes from."  


An image of a sheet floating around the manor invaded his thoughts and his brain felt it appropriate to paint a red lipsticked smile on it. He exhaled through his nose and pressed his fingers to his eyes.  


He really was quite tired.  


"How long have you been in this state?" More importantly, how long had he been there invading his space. He had a hunch.  


"Since I got smashed in a non-sexy way by tall, dark, and brutish."  


"Why is it that I can just discern your voice now?"  


"Because being a ghost is _hard_. It's not like in the movies you know, rattling pots and pans, spooky whispers, serenading sailors to their doom."  


"That last one is a siren, Joker."  


"Really, have you seen me at karaoke night?" He said, winking, forgetting that the gesture was completely lost to the other man. "But honestly, from what I've been able to gather, it takes time to get enough energy to be able to do much of anything. The longer I'm like this, the stronger I become." He was still hardly the spook du jour, but he had at least graduated to being able to punch buttons and, at this point, he would take what he could get.  


"Do you-?"  


"You seem to be bursting with questions, would you like for me to fill out a questionnaire? Like dearest pal, how has being dead been treating you? Have you met other ghosts? What's your favorite lipstick color? How are you _feeling_?" He said the last bit very pointedly, voice taking on a scornful edge.  


Bruce had the decency to grimace, realizing he had been more concerned with piecing together what was going on than the man's well-being; treating him like a creature under a microscope. He wouldn't apologize, but it wouldn't do any harm to query into his mental state. "How...are you?" He said, sounding as awkward as he felt.  


"Just _dandy_." He didn't have to see the roll of eyes so much as he could hear it in his tone. "Don't worry yourself, I know you have the social graces of a rusty tea kettle. I've already passed through the seven stages of grief and have accepted my ghostly condition. Though I may have skipped over the bargaining step. I've never been one much for begging, unless asked nicely."  


"Depending on which model you follow, there are eight stages of grief..." Bruce would argue that the last one was the most important.  


"Ah, yes, _hope_. In which case, I _hope_ you hit Edward extra hard on my behalf. Riding on the coattails of my death is just _tacky_." The little cretin deserved to be strung up by his toes and flayed, as far as he was concerned. He would have done it long ago himself, but he had bigger-and much better-fish to fry.  


Admittedly, so caught up in this whole debacle, Bruce had momentarily forgotten about the other rogue. Joker always had a way of doing that, refusing to share the spotlight and drawing the attention center stage.  


"I make no promises." Turning back to his computer, he input searches to card manufacturing plants in Gotham. There were three in total but only one dealt with playing cards.  


"Of course not, that would go against that outstanding moral fiber of yours." Bruce heard his voice retreating and watched as the elevator doors opened. Before the man left, he did have one last question. One that had been bothering him for quite some time.  


"Why did you save me?" More importantly, save his life on a gamble for his own. He wasn't sure what sort of answer he expected to gleam from the clown, whether it would be honest or a lie.  


"You're the detective, you tell me." Joker replied as he selected the correct floor, leaving Bruce with more questions than answers, the steel doors shutting with finality.  


Squinting his eyes, he returned to his search. One thing was for certain; he would need to set up some sort of parameters to keep the other in check. While he was harmless now, he may not be in the future, and it was vastly unsettling to have him wandering freely in his home. If anyone could pull off coming back from the dead, leave it to him-ever the wild card. He would have to research spirits, of all things, if he wanted to get a better handle on this. But first, he had a Riddler to catch.


	5. Rules and Regulations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading thus far! You're all an absolute treasure~

When Bruce arrived at the card factory, instead of finding The Riddler, he found another riddle. It sent him on a four day long goose chase, one riddle after another. The trail kept him in the city, away from the manor, and he could only hope Joker was behaving himself. That was a tall order, but his options were few and came down to catching a very living criminal or surveilling a somewhat dead one. He was less concerned about the well-being of the house and more for Alfred's safety, but if he could take Joker's words at face value, there was very little he could do. There was also the matter of what, if anything, he should tell Alfred. Carding that thought away for later, he pulled the car into the batcave. The solution to that quandary could wait until later.

Once he arrived upstairs, he found a surprising sight. Stopping in place, he couldn't help but stare. The tinklings of music met his ears, the ebb and flow of the notes traveling at a perfect cadence. He wasn't sure how long ago it was that the neglected piano had been played, having become more a decoration than it's intended purpose. The music was curious enough, but he could _see_ Joker playing.

He reminded Bruce of a watercolor painting, sheer washes of color here and there, staining his suit and hair shades of muted green and purple. Long fingers danced over the ivory keys with a memorized grace. He wondered briefly if he knew how to play before his psychosis, or if he learned afterwards. What kind of man did he used to be? Was he still in there, buried under the rubble that madness had left behind? When the wild, manic energy left him, he could swear he could see into him, the man he used to be clawing to the surface.

Just as the music reached a crescendo, one of his fingers slipped through the keys and he clucked his tongue, pulling back. It seemed he had reached his quota of energy usage for the day. Pity, he was just getting to his favorite part. Perhaps one day he would actually be able to finish a song.

The scene being interrupted, Bruce finally moved from where he was rooted to the spot, prompting Joker to look up.

"Ah, an audience. Show's over I'm afraid." Joker said, splaying his hands to the side. Swinging his legs around the stool, he stood, making his way towards Bruce. "She's a bit out of tune, Captain. Can't say I'm surprised, you don't strike me as someone who plays."

"Alfred usually takes care of getting it tuned. I used to play..." Long ago, back when his mother was still alive. He was never sure if he wanted to push those memories away under lock and key, or keep them close. She deserved to be remembered, but years later it still hurt too much. So the piano sat, ignored because of the memories it represented.

Joker looked at him suspiciously, starting to veer to the side. He had noticed that Bruce was following his movements as he walked. Bruce was tempted to keep looking straight ahead, keeping up a charade that he couldn't see him, but he supposed he could reward him a minor victory. A slow smile spread on his washed out lips.

"You can see me, _can't you_?" His side step had turned into a circle around him. Coming back to stand in front he gave a dramatic twirl, coattails flaring out. "So, how do I look?"

"Pale." Bruce deadpanned.

The look he received could have soured grapes. "Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel appreciated."

"I try."

"...your butler is British, isn't he? Your humor is about as dry as Bane's Bundt cake."

"Bane's..." Bruce shook his head. Their conversation had gotten derailed somewhere. "Listen, we need to lay down some guidelines."

"Ohhh, _house rules_. Though I make no guarantees I'll follow them."

"I know." Joker rarely followed any rules unless it suited his own motives. Bruce wasn't foolish enough to think he would start now on his behalf.

  
He lead them into a room, secluded enough that Alfred wouldn't hear him talking to thin air. No need to concern him more than he already was.

"First rule, don't let anyone else hear or see you."

"That's easy enough. I don't think anyone can unless I actually want them to. Considering Jeeves didn't try and suck me up in the vacuum when we crossed paths the other day. I wouldn't put it past him, either."

Bruce's hackles rose. He really disliked the thought of leaving Alfred unawares about the current situation, for that reason in particular. This wasn't just Bruce's home, but his as well, and to not know about their... _house guest_ -as it were-didn't settle right. But, grudging as he was to admit it, Bruce had a greater fear that if Alfred knew about him, he would surely set about getting rid of him. In his mind, banishing him would be no better than killing someone. Ghosts brought up the strange moral dilemma that posed to ask if someone had to have a solid body to be considered alive, or simply an existing state of consciousness.

"Second rule, don't go in my room."

"Really? What are you, a teenager? I've been in there and it's nothing special, darling. It's not as if you have a kinky sex dungeon in there." Joker's not entirely sure he would have been shocked by that, to be honest. He paraded around the city dressed as a bat for pete's sake, he had to have _something_ going on.

"I sleep there, that should be reason enough." He needed to have at least one space to himself. "Rule three, no entering the batcave unless I'm in there with you."

"Not much of a restriction, that one, since you seem to be in there _all the time_. Any other requests?"

"That's all. For now."

"Look at you, flying by the seat of your bat-knickers!"

"I never made a protocol for ghosts."

The spiritual fell into the same mold as magic, and Bruce hated it. It was unpredictable and hard to fight because neither of the two adhered to logic. If Gotham were a chessboard, all the rogues would be the pieces. Bruce knew them all and how to neutralize them. When magic was thrown into the mix it was like someone had added entirely new pieces to the board with their own move sets. In this scenario, Joker had gone from the unpredictable, ever-changing Queen, to a shiny new Jester piece. He was sure he would have to change in some way to counter it, but how would remain to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated at one point on having Joker still have a maimed chest from getting shish-kabobbed buuut that would be more grim and gritty and would kind of...detract from the romance. LOL Not that I don't also love grim and gritty Batjokes, but it's probably not my writing forte. Especially considering humor always wants to sneak in. Also, why did I have Bane making a cake at some point? ...I thought it was funny, that's why. Bane shows he cares in strange ways. Like giving two archnemesis a virus and forcing them to admit they need each other.


End file.
